


Weapons Cleaning

by LavenderNomad



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/M, M/M, Quiet love, Second person POV, Weapons, blood mention, gender neutral reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-25
Updated: 2016-07-25
Packaged: 2018-07-26 18:19:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 577
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7585015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LavenderNomad/pseuds/LavenderNomad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Quiet morning routines with Dean Winchester. A drabble.</p><p>Gender neutral!Reader x Dean Winchester</p>
            </blockquote>





	Weapons Cleaning

It was a slow morning, with whatever you were hunting coming out at night. Sam was finishing up his research inside, so you had come out here with Dean to clean everything up for the hunt. There had been some ribbing at first, about how you immediately went for the big guns to clean and the phallic symbols there, but you both had eventually fallen silent. The forest around the motel was also waking up, the sounds of birds and bugs slowly getting louder, the clouds grey between the dark branches. It was looking to be a cool autumn day. Now, you both are leaning idly against the open trunk of the Impala facing the motel door, regarding the empty lot, wiping down the handles of knives, swords, any blades in the trunk. 

You used to wonder at the amount of dirt, blood and otherworldly gunk that caked onto these, making them hard and unwieldy to handle. Dean told you he had had difficulties with a blunt knife that hadn’t been sharpened and the trouble he had almost been in. Since then, you had convinced him to clean his weapons before and after every hunt, to prevent situations like that, like backfires, like dirtied holy water. 

And so it had become a tradition; sometimes you started and Dean joined, sometimes Sam also took part, sometimes it was just Dean. But your favorite days were when you and Dean started at the same time, just the two of you, mechanically rubbing, polishing, cleaning the weapons. There was something cathartic about cleansing the filth off these tools, and you thought that maybe, just maybe, it was good for Dean too. He seemed calm when he did it, relaxed and his guard truly down. 

You glanced at him, his eyes soft around the edges but focused on the knife in his hands. He rubs some polish onto it before wiping it up and down the blade. You put down the dagger in your hands, and surveying the trunk, you pick up a gun in the next category. It’s just a pistol; might as well start small and bring the heavier guns inside, out of prying eyes’ view. You wipe the butt of the gun, carefully pressing the dirtied cloth in your hands into every groove, collecting dust and dirt and blood.

He turns slightly, catching your eyes before offering you a small smile; partly a gasp of the cocky Dean you knew, partly the gentle, calm one. You robotically swiped up the neck of the gun, opening up the barrel to wipe it down. After finishing up the gun, you drop it down and sit up, stretching upwards to crack your spine. Tension releases and you sigh contentedly. You step to face Dean, who has also picked up a smaller handgun to clean. Without looking up, he meets your gaze, pausing slightly to tilt his chin up to smile at you. You simply smile back, basking in this moment, the sun pressing hard on your face, a welcome heat to the chilly air biting at your nose and ears. You bask in this private, quiet morning with this wonderful, broken man, close enough to be between his calves and feel his intense presence. 

He pauses as you grasp his wrist and he moves his hand to squeeze yours, his fingers warm, calloused, covered in polish, familiar, strong. Your heart floods with joy and you want this moment to go on.


End file.
